Tired
by GracefulLeopard
Summary: Ed is tired, and so is Al, but they have each other. That's all that matters.


Ed knows it's not uncommon for him to be tired- exhausted, even. Long missions from Colonel Bastard always end up with some stupid guy trying to take over the town or bandits in the woods, yadda yadda, and Ed has to clean it up. By fighting, of course. So by the time he gets back he's dirty, tired, hungry, possibly injured, and dragging his feet to deliver a (late) report. Mustang always says something about his height, and Ed blows up, which wastes more energy, and then he has to walk back to his dorm. In the end, once he's in his bed he sleeps for a solid 11 hours or more (because _of course_ he can't sleep that much when he's on a mission, he has _work_ to do, asshole).

Automail, too, is a huge drag. It's useful and all, being able to use his limbs like before (with the added bonus of metal he can transmute into a blade), but it takes a lot of energy to haul it around.

Ed knows that he gets into a lot of fights and tough situations that end badly, so he knows about all different kinds of tired. Hell, he can name them on his fingers and toes and still have more. Sick tired, sleepy tired, blood-loss tired, running-out-of-air tired...

But some nights, in a dark, quiet room, where the only sound is the rustling of sheets and soft breathing and the occasional clank of metal, Ed turns over in his bed and looks at Al. He stares into glowing red eyes, at the large, intimidating figure that he turned his gentle brother into, and something curls in his chest. He thinks of long, tiring journeys for a mythical-but-not-really stone that they (can't, wont) use anyways, of failed leads and long silences, of screaming and blood and _Give him back he's my only brother!_

On nights like those, Ed wets his lips and speaks very quietly when he says, "Al, I'm tired."

And Al _knows_ , because they're brothers and all the other has left and they can read each other's eyes as easy as the alchemy texts they're so interested in. Al knows, and so he lets Ed grab his blanket and walk over to the other bed, and tap his flesh hand softly against the chest plate of the armor. He lets his older brother lean against his side for the rest of the night, neither of them sleeping or saying a word until the sun comes up. Lets Ed sit and remind himself that Al still cares for him, that he's not going anywhere, and in the morning Ed looks up with renewed determination in his eyes because nothing has changed; they're still together.

And damn it all, but Ed loves and is so grateful for his brother, even though he doesn't feel like he deserves him.

* * *

Al knows that he can't get tired.

It used to be a perk, one of the few nice things about having an armor body. He doesn't need to sleep, or eat, doesn't have to worry about running out of breath or bleeding out.

But over time, it became less of an advantage and more of a burden. Not physically, never physically, he doesn't have a body for his lack of care to tax. It's a mental strain, a dark smudge on the edge of his thoughts whispering to him _what if I'm stuck like this forever_ and _am I really human if I don't need to sleep or eat?_

Al hates the smudge, hates the jealousy that bubbles up whenever he sees his brother scarf down food or snore in his sleep, hates that he doesn't have what his brother does and hates himself for wanting it.

He knows that he is lucky to be alive even in this form, that Ed is just as burdened –if not more so- by their actions and by the guilt that he takes on his shoulders for making Al this way. Knows that he doesn't have to experience nightmares or the pangs of hunger or pain from injuries or exhaustion so deep that you want to fall over and not get up again.

He knows that, he does, but sometimes it's too much.

Some nights, Al looks over at his sleeping brother and thinks _me too_. Thinks I'm _tired_ but I can't sleep, I'm _hungry_ but I can't eat, I _hurt_ but I can't heal.

Some nights, Al says softly, so softly for a suit of empty armor, "Brother, I'm tired."

And Ed wakes up (unless he's trapped in a nightmare, which Al doesn't get, never gets except the ones in his head when he's alone in the dark) and grabs his blanket, walks over to Al and throws it over him even though Al doesn't get cold. He sits at Al's feet, leaning against his legs and staring ahead like if he looks up he'll see Al crying. Ed sits, and tells stories, old ones from their childhood. Stories about a boy and a beanstalk, or a kid and his flock of sheep, or a girl and her family.

He whispers in that tone of voice that Ed saves for those he cares about, and Al listens, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself even though he can't feel it. Once his brother runs out of stories, he makes some up. Twists tales about the old hermit who found peace in a quiet forest and a litter of kittens, about a dragon that lives at the bottom of the sea, about a group of teens and their adventures around the world.

Ed's hands move as he speaks, drawing shapes in the air with his arms while he gestures. Al follows the figures and lets his brother's words drown out the dark smudge in his head with bright colors and joyful tales.

(Sometimes, when Al's body shakes with tremors he can't suppress, Ed taps a slow beat on the frame of the bed and hums old lullabies that their mother used to sing.)

By the time the sun shines through the windows in the morning, Ed is talking loudly again and Al is following his brother, occasionally adding a comment like the night never happened.

Al never brings it up and Ed never says anything, but Al loves his brother for being there for him.

* * *

 **AN:** Listen I know I haven't posted anything on here in like years and that this is a completely different fandom but _I have a lot of feels today let met get them out._

So here's this dump. Thought of it while I was laying on my floor and contemplating just how much I love Fullmetal Alchemist.


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